LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 555, 29 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A JOINT IN THE HARNESS. BY MARIAN NORTHCOTT, AUTHOR OF 'TIM TWINKLETON'S TWINS,' ETC. (Omtinved.) A bond of sympathy had arisen between the two men, though they had scarcely exchanged a dozen words. Almost all Roland Deunison knew of Mr Goode was that he frequently found him at the bedside of the most hardened desperadoes, and in feverstricken districts he himself oftenjhesitated to traverse. Tbe young doctor was experienced in the varied changes of typhoid, and devoted himself to his clerical patient; after a while a gleam of hope broke in upon the saddened heart of the curate's wife, the favourable symptoms increased, then came a revival of strength, and by and by a cure was effected. From that time Mr Goode and Roland Dennison became fast friends. One dusky evening at the fall of the year Jabez Kyte, stepping from a first-class railway carriage, passed out of the station, and proceeding slowly along the high road leading to his residence, made up his mind to acquaint his daughter with his intentions respecting her future. He leisurely paced the strip of gravel path fronting his dwelling, and pondering a moment here he summoned the servant to admit him. Then, having come to a final determination as to the manner in which he should introduce the subject of his thoughts, he gave notice of his proximity, and half an hour after sat down to dinner. Though at certain periods he was far from being a cheery companion, Rose was always glad to have her parent wdthher : the life she spent was a dull and comparatively uneventful one; she had no society in the house, for her father never invited any but the particular set with whom he was associated in the city ; and prolix discussions on foreign loans, railway dividends, the incidents of the last settlement, and anticipations of the result of next Thursday's meeting of the Bank Directors, had no interest for a girl just out of her teens. Mr Kyte was not a communicative man : he never spoke of his early days, and his life from the time he quitted his home until he returned was to Rose as a sea'ed book. Oft had she resorted to tender arts in the endeavour to induce him to confide in her, but all proved unavailing. Under these circumstances, it was little wonder she should seek the friendship of the warm-hearted curate's wife, and fall a ready victim to the honest love of Roland Dennison. On this particular evening Jabez Kyte seemed more constrained than ever—he was restless, nervous, and fidgety beyond his wont; when, too, he spoke to his daughter, he interspersed his words with endearing epithets to which his lips had long been unaccustomed. Rose, little dreaming of the purpose of this ostentatious display of parental feeling, was rejoiced beyond measure, and was debating in her mind as to whether she should tell him of the new acquaintanceship she had formed at the curate's house, and ask him to fix a day for seeing her betrothed, when Mr Kyte made an announcement that drove the colour from her cheeks and sent a chill through her heart. After a good many preliminary 'hems' and some straggling details respecting the November fog which had that day hung over the metropolis, Jabez Kyte told his daughter to put aside the lace-work upon which her busy fingers were employed, and to draw her chair nearer his, as he had something very important to communicate. She obeyed him on the instant. Kyte lowered his face to hers, and, giving her a kiss, blurted forth all of a sudden, ' Rose, my child, it's time you were married, and I've found a husband for you.' If a cannon-ball had whizzed through the drawing-room shutters and fallen at her feet, Rose could not have evinced more astonishment and trepidation. The first sensation of surprise at an end, there flashed through her brain a thought which set her heart leaping in her bosom. Was it possible that her father, shrewd, far-seeing man as he was, had become cognisant of Koland's attachment, which had only been declared a month since, but by her desire was known only to themselves and to the Goodes? Was her father about to express his approval of the engagement? A moment's sober reflection should have convinced Rose of the improbability of the rich calculating Jabez Kyte consenting to the union of his daughter with a struggling young doctor, having no expectations but such as industry and steady application might realise. But when did lovers, in the glowing heyday of youth, duly estimate the thoughts and ■ unexpressed opinions of on-lookers ? When Love Bits in the scale, Judgment and Prudence oft kick the beam. Poor Rose was quickly undeceived. Having once revealed the main issue of his plan, Mr Kyte was voluble enough. He did not wait for his daughter to speak ; he had announced his wish that she should marry, and expected her to comply without demur. He had chosen his son in-law, and all Rose had to do was—in default of a mother—to seek the advice of a female friend and select the wedding dress, &c, a matter which he really could not be expected to superintend. He was ready to place any amount of money at her disposal. A man not exactly wealthy, but occupying a high position in his county, young, and good-looking, had made a proposal for her hand, and he, acting as proxy for Rose, had consented to the match. ' You know, my dear,' continued Jabez Kyte, recovering his wonted composure, ' what an excellent father I have ever been to you. Many men situated as I was might have married again. Had I done so, possibly you would not have been the sole descendant to claim what I shall leave behind me. Many men, too, so early deprived of their wives would have neglected their homes and sought change elsewhere. Thank Heaven, no one can reproach me with such conduct ! Throughout these long years, you, my child, have solely occupied my thoughts. For whom have I amassed my wealth ? For none but yourself. At the death of your samted mother I marked out a path for my future, and, unlike other fathers, I have never diverged a hair's breadth therefrom.' Impressed with the nobility of his behaviour and carried away by his own words, thi* devoted father drew himself into a digmfi. d position, and ran his fingers through the scanty iron-gray locks which Btill adorned his cranium. * Sir Richard Arrabelle— a baronet, my dear, and not a simple knight will make you an excellent husband, and you will be one of the most envied women in Berkshire. Ought you not to thank me for the position my paternal care has secured you ?' (To be continued.)